


Literary Criticism

by bendingwind



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:58:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5666881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingwind/pseuds/bendingwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See, this is why Varric never asks Hawke for her opinion.</p><p>Hawke’s opinions are crap and they always land him in a pile of bullshit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Literary Criticism

See, this is why Varric never asks Hawke for her opinion.

Hawke’s opinions are crap and they always land him in a pile of bullshit.

“It’s more _romantic_ if they do it all traditional-like! Like they’re each other’s firsts,” she says, as Varric deftly maneuvers his manuscript out of her reach.

Varric never thought he’d hear Hawke argue in favor of romance, but here he is.

“But it is _hotter_ if they only make it to the sitting room! In any case, I do not believe anyone has ever managed an entirely romantic ‘first time’, it is implausible to say the least.”

Varric _also_ never thought he’d have to sit through Cassandra’s impassioned arguments about the best possible location for his characters to have sex, but here. he. fucking. is.

This would be really great if it were happening in one of his stories and not, say, damn smack in the middle of the Herald’s Rest with two beautiful women directly across the table from him.

Hawke’s banging her ale against the table, oblivious to the small puddle she’s creating beneath it. Cassandra… Cassandra’s got one delicate hand wrapped around a mostly-empty bottle of wine and cheeks flushed a pretty pink and eyes that have the fucking gall to _sparkle_ when she argues.

Total bullshit.

And they’re still arguing, is the thing.

“They have just been reunited after false accusations took her away on a quest to prove her innocence! And they have pined for each other all this time! It should be a matter of hurried, scrambling hands as they divest each other of their clothes, leaving a trail leading from his door to the sitting room. There, she pushes him onto the settee--”

“Actually, settees are--” Hawke attempts to interrupt, but a quelling look from Cassandra silences her. Damn impressive, really.

“She pushes him onto the settee, and for a moment they pause, simply looking at one another. It has been so long, and he has thought her dead, and she! She did not think that she would ever be able to clear her name, to be able to return and tell him how she felt! When he opened his door, it was all there in their eyes--they did not even need to speak.”

Varric is so busy scribbling down notes on the corner of a page--this shit’s golden--that he doesn’t notice the Iron Bull approach until he thumps heavily down onto the seat beside him.

“And so here they stand,” Cassandra continues, not apparently concerned by the addition to their party, “bare before each other, and for a moment, they pause. They pull back once again, to see each other, to make sure that what they thought they saw in the doorway was really there. And of course it is, in the warmth in their eyes, in the way, even in this quiet moment, they cannot contain their heavy, yearning breaths, the way that even after all this time their hearts beat as one. Slowly, she reaches down to cup his cheek with one hand, and he shifts so that she can lower herself onto him--”

“That’s some good shit right there,” the Iron Bull booms, and _he,_ at least, does not seem to draw Cassandra’s ire with his interruption. “Now he’s just gotta tie her down so she can’t get away again. Adds a nice dimension to the sex, too.”

A) Varric very pointedly does not think about the source of Iron Bull’s knowledge regarding ropes, and B) Cassandra looks like she’s _considering_ the Iron Bull’s suggestion.

“No, I don’t think so. Not until later,” Cassandra says slowly, and Varric damn near spits out his drink. “The second time around, once they’ve moved to the bedroom. It would ruin the flow of the story at this point. They’ve just been reunited, the sex has to be fast yet still soft, hot without failing to be tender. Having to stop and find rope, negotiate terms and a failsafe phrase, and then secure the bonds and ensure circulation is not hindered… it would pull the reader from the story.”

The Iron Bull whistles, and Hawke looks like she’s on the verge of laughing. Varric… Varric doesn’t want to know _how_ he looks.

“It’s just a story, Seeker, doesn’t require _that_ much realism,” he hears himself saying.

Cassandra sniffs disdainfully.

“One should always try for at least a minimum of accuracy and safety in these matters.” The look that overtakes her face now is somewhere in between mischief and embarrassment, and Varric finds himself clinging to her every word, fascinated by this new side to the (rather drunk) Seeker. “If one does not, no doubt some foolish young couple will attempt to reenact the scene and find themselves trying to come up with a story to explain to the infirmary mage why, exactly, one’s wrists are chafed bloody and they can’t seem to regain feeling in their fingertips.”

Varric is frankly too stunned to even sputter. Her tone of voice leaves no doubt that the Seeker is speaking from unpleasant experience in this regard, and he can’t quite decide if he wants her to have been reading one of his books at the time, and if he wants to know if she was or not.

The Iron Bull takes a large gulp of that toxic Qunari shit he likes and, in a genuinely alarmed tone, asks, “I know you don’t have tamassrans, but surely your _parents_ taught you that shit? Safety’s important.”

Varric’s just proud that Hawke’s the one to spit her ale all over Cassandra, and not him.

After a moment of tense silence, during which Varric has time to begin plans for Hawke’s funeral, Cassandra laughs.

Loudly, with her head thrown back, the long, smooth expanse of her neck exposed as if specifically to draw Varric’s attention. It’s the sort of deep belly laugh Varric has never even imagined she was capable of, the kind that rings through the tavern and draws attention from the other patrons. And then she finishes laughing, but she’s smiling wider than Varric has ever seen before. She’s… stunning, actually.

All this romance bullshit about his book is clearly going to his head.

Slowly, or perhaps Varric’s sudden, intense focus has simply slowed down his perception of time, her smile settles into something more normal, although still pleasant.

“Ah well,” she says, with a sigh that sounds… regretful? “It’s just as well I suppose. I have an early morning with the Inquisitor, and I should change. I should retire for the night.”

“Aw, come on, we’re just getting started. You gotta tell Varr-- _us_ how the Knight-Captain _handles her man,_ ” Hawke pleads, but her words have started to become a bit slurred and her heart’s not quite in it. Even the exaggerated waggle of her eyebrows falls a little flat.

The Iron Bull, Varric notices, watches all of this with an intensely interested eye. He shifts, a hand on his good leg to help him stand, and rises.

“I guess that means I’ve got just as early a morning, huh? Let me walk you back to your rooms, Cassandra,” he offers.

Cassandra hums her agreement and takes his hand when he offers it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. 

“Enjoy your evening,” she says to Varric and Hawke, smiling again.

As they leave, Varric finds himself weirdly mesmerized by the sharp sway of Cassandra’s hips. Even the spindly, human length of her legs is not enough to dampen his interest in the sight. Varric doesn’t really go for humans, especially not the ones who kidnap him, interrogate him, and generally toss him around when they find out he lied.

Cassandra might just be an exception to the rule.

He turns back to the table to find Hawke leering and making kissy faces at him.

Well, _shit._


End file.
